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rURN IN THE ROAD 


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1912 

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The Turn in the Road 


A Comedy in Two Acts 


By 

GLADYS RUTH BRIDGHAM 

I* 

Author of * ‘ The Queen ef Hearts" “ Schoolmatesetc . 


As originally produced by The Cole Class of the First Street 
Methodist Church, in Somerville, Mass., March 13, 1912. 



BOSTON 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 


1912 





The Turn in the Road 


CHARACTERS 


(As originally cast.) 

Ezra Stong. 

Hobart Colfax, captain of the football team , 
editor of the “ Colton Monthly . . . 

Hiram Skinner, a Woodstock farmer . . 

Daniel Hawkins, from the backwoods of 

Maine . 

Theodore Morris, 

John Campbell Edwards, 

Edward Campbell, 

Thomas Toodles, 

Montgomery Donaldson, 


Colton freshmen. 


Charles Boutilier. 

Leonard Rice. 
Howard Chisholm. 

Lawrence Taylor. 

' Harold Lord. 

Paul Hewes. 

- Charles Finlay. 
Harry Free to. 
Clarence Collins. 


SYNOPSIS 

Act I. —Stong’s room, Colton University, Woodstock Village. 
Act II. —The same—one week later. 

Plays one and a half hours. 









The Turn in the Road 


ACT I 

SCENE.— Ezra Stong’s room at Colton University, Wood- 

stock Village. As curtain rises Stong sits at table writing , 

Daniel Hawkins studying. Stong writes , and smiles as 

he writes. Hawk, watches him, and filially throws a book 

at him. 

Stong. What in time is that for? 

Hawk. You look so cheerful you make me sick. What 
are you writing? A love letter? 

Stong. Hardly. I’m not a success with the ladies. 

Hawk. Well, you would be if you had the chance. You’re 
just the kind of a fellow to make a gill’s heart turn over with 
delight. 

Stong. Where do you feel the worst, Dan ? 

Hawk. Jeer if you want to. I’m sick of living. 

Stong. Well, there’s a river handy, but it’s awfully cold 
this time of year. You’d look bluer than you do now, Dan. 
What’s bothering you ? 

Hawk. Everything. Say, honest, Ezra, if you weren’t 
here, I’d throw the whole thing up and beat it back to Aroos¬ 
took County to-morrow. I don’t fit into this place for a min¬ 
ute. Neither do you for that matter, but you could if you had 
the chance. There’s nothing fair about this deal. Nothing 
counts up here but money, money, money. You ought to be 
the most popular fellow in Colton, and there’s hardly six fel¬ 
lows who know you by sight. 

Stong. Feel better ? 

Hawk. Why, the bunch that counts are the worst—why, I 
never dreamed there were such good-for-nothings in the world 
until I struck in here. There’s Morris, Campbell, Glenning, 
and that silly little Toodles, the sickest crowd ! They never 

3 



4 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


know a lesson; they never do anything but go down to the 
city and rampage around. Yet they are just “it,” because 
they have money. Brains don’t count; it’s money. Those 
fellows couldn’t do a day’s work; couldn’t mow a field; 
couldn’t go into the woods and chop a tree ! Why, I know 
things about those fellows that- 

Stong. Yes, I dare say you do, Dan, but it isn’t going to 
help matters any for you to tell me what you know. 1 don’t 
know any of them but Morris. I don’t want to. The less we 
see of them, the happier we’ll be. If you weren’t a waiter 
over to the VVoodcroft, you wouldn’t be so prejudiced. I dare 
say they are not over and above careful about the things they 
say to you- 

Hawk. Careful! Careful! If you knew ! I wish you 
could have heard them this noon ! That little Morris kid you 

are so fond of-- Ezra, it will be the happiest minute of my 

life when I pour a dish of hot soup down his neck. 

Stong. Well, you are peevish. Morris isn’t half bad. 
He doesn’t mean half that he says; nor do any of those boys 
for that matter. It’s their way and you don’t understand it. 
They come from the city. You come from the country. 

Hawk. So do you. 

Stong. Yes, but I’ve been here three years, and you haven’t 
been here but six months. 

Hawk. Oh, of course you’ll make excuses. Especially for 
young Morris. Will you tell me what you see in him ? Why 
you are so fond of him ? 

Stong. I can’t tell you exactly why I am so fond of him. 
The boy appealed to me the first day that he came up here, and 
he has a tremendous grip on my heart. I think if I had a 
younger brother I would care for him the same way. I see 
great possibilities in him, if something would happen to make 
him change his style of living. I see what he might be if he 
was in my place—in your place. I tell you what it is, Dan, 
we are the ones that really have the chance to make good. 
Those fellows are bound by golden fetters, and those are the 
hardest to break. (Hawk, rises.) Going ? 

Hawk. Yes, I’ve a recitation, and it isn’t prepared, either. 

Stong. Take a brace, old man. You’ll pull through. It 
isn’t like you to lose your grip. You’ve been putting up a 
good fight, and you’re going to win out. 

Hawk. You’re the only thing that keeps me going. I’ll 
tell you what bothers me the most. I get so tired that I can’t 





THE TURN IN THE ROAD 5 

study, and then I flunk. Books never came any too easy 
to me, anyway. 

Stong. Hope on ! There never was a cloud but had its 
sunlight, too. {Exit Hawk.) That confounded cough of his 
is wearing him out. I must find some way of helping him. 
Gee, this is a blue Monday all right. I haven’t heard anything 
but tales of woe all day. I’m glad it’s nearly time for Morris. 
He’s always cheerful. If it wasn’t for that kid, I’d have died 
of loneliness. Let’s see, where was I ? Oh, yes. {Begins to 
write . John Campbell Edwards knocks at door.) Come in 1 

Enter Edwards. 

Edwards. I say, is your name Stong ? Ezra Stong ? 

Stong. I believe so. 

Edwards. Well, Ted Morris told me where to find you. 
He says you stuff his brain for so much an hour. Is that so? 

Stong. Well, I tutor him in several subjects, if that is what 
you mean. 

Edwards. Several subjects is good. Well, my head is in 
the same condition as Ted’s—only more so. 

Stong. What do you want to tutor in ? 

Edwards. Oh, I don’t want to tutor in anything, but it 
seems to be a stirring necessity that I should learn something. 
You see, I can’t stay here unless I do throw a bluff in regard 
to some of the “ologies,” and if I should get dropped from 
President Sherman’s calling list, our family would feel that I 
hadn’t been a credit to them. Now, I can’t for the life of me 
see why the instructors should care whether I know anything or 
not. Dad’s paying a small fortune to get me through here, and 
I don’t see why they can’t be satisfied with that. I could just 
board up here for four years to please the family, and then re¬ 
turn to New York and every one be happy; but the instructors 
are the most unreasonable men. So I thought perhaps you 
could find a vulnerable spot in my brain somewhere and just 
pour in a few handy little words and phrases that would prove 
useful in the class room in times of stress. Do you catch my 
idea? 

Stong. Yes, I guess so. How much work are you in the 
habit of doing? What is your worst subject? 

Edwards. Geology ! And I chose it myself! Now, can 
you imagine any one doing such an imbecile thing? I thought 
the course was a series of little picnics in the fields and woods. 
Honest I did. Now wouldn’t any one naturally think so? 


6 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


Stong. How many lectures have you attended ? 

Edwards. Two. 

Stong. Two ? Two since the opening of college ? 
Edwards. Why, yes. You don’t suppose I waste time on 
lectures, do you? If I did I shouldn’t have to come over here. 

Stong. I suppose you are equally well versed in all of your 
other subjects. Well, I can give you to-morrow at two o’clock. 
Edwards. All right. Thanks. 

(Hobart Colfax knocks .) 

Stong. Come in. 


Enter Col. 

Col. Oh ! Are you busy ? 

Stong. No; I am glad to see you, Colfax. This is 
Edwards of the freshman class. 

Col. Glad to know you, Edwards. 

Edwards. Thank you. I’m glad to kno w you. 

Col. Like it up here ? 

Edwards. Oh, yes , of course. Well, I’ll see you to-morrow, 
Stong. 

Stong. All right. Good-bye. [Exit Edwards. 

Col. Now wouldn’t that make you sick? 

Stong. Oh, I don’t know. It’s human nature. You’re a 
big man up here, you know. Why shouldn’t the freshmen 
worship ? 

Col. Well, it’s mighty tiresome. 

Stong. Perhaps; but it’s not a bad thing if they worship 
the right kind of a man. Say, it isn’t any of my business; 
perhaps I’ve a terrible nerve to mention it, but do you realize 
what a wonderful influence you have over the fellows, espe¬ 
cially the youngsters? 

Col. Why, I don’t know as I ever thought much about it. 

Stong. You’d only have to speak one word either good or 
bad to get results. 

Col. Oh, you exaggerate. 

Stong. No, I don’t, and it’s a good thing for you to 
realize it. 

Col. Sounds like so much nonsense. Say, Stong, here’s 
the money for your friend. We raised five hundred dollars. 
Will that do all that is necessary? 

Stong. It will do everything. Colfax, I thank you from 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD J 

the bottom of my heart, and as for poor Stevens, well, you fel¬ 
lows can’t realize what you have done. 

Col. Oh, it isn’t much. It’s lucky for Stevens that he 
knew you. We should never have known about it. I never 
heard of him until you mentioned him. 

Stong. Say, Colfax, would you do me a personal favor ? 

Col. Gladly, if I can. 

Stong. Well, you know we have some rooms over in 
Kendal that we call a Y. M. C. A. Of course it really isn’t, 
but it might develop into one with a little work. It’s kind of a 
good place for the poor fellows who haven’t many friends, and 
we hold meetings, you know. Will you go over there to-night 
and talk to the boys ? 

Col. What ? I talk in a meeting ? Say, that joke is too 
good to keep. 

Stong. It wouldn’t be any joke, Colfax. 

Col. What in the name of common sense would I talk 
about ? 

Stong. Anything. Football, if you like. Just the fact 
that it was you would be enough for the fellows. I wish you 
would, Colfax. 

Col. It’s utterly impossible, Stong. I would be glad to do 
anything for you that I could do, but not that. 

Stong. I wish you would. 

Col. I’m sorry. Let me know any time and I will be glad 
to help in some other way. I really can’t do that. Good¬ 
bye. [Exit. 

Stong (calling after him). I wish you would. 

Col. (calling back). I’m sorry. 

(Stong puts the five hundred dollars on the table. As he 
writes he throws some papers over the money and forgets 
about it.) 

Stong (writing again). There, that’s finished, and luck 
go with it. (Puts paper in envelope and seals it. Theodore 
Morris is heard whistling outside.) There comes the kid. 

Mor. (outside). I say, Diogenes, art thou within ? 

Stong. Yes, come in. 

Enter Mor. 


Mor. Pluggin’ ! Plnggin’ !— As usual, pluggin’ ! Stong, 


8 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


if you keep on, your brain will shrivel to a hopeless crisp, and 
then what will become of me ? 

Stong. You might depend on your own brains. 

Mor. Believe me, I haven’t any. As sure as you’re liv¬ 
ing, Stong, I haven’t sense enough to last me over night. 

Stong. Well, you certainly don’t lack for company. Your 
friend Edwards was here just a short time ago. 

Mor. Did Johnny come to see you? Dear little Johnny ! 
I told him that you run a cranium factory up here. Brains 
furnished while you wait. I think Toodles is coming over, too. 
Say, Stong, you can start a little college of your own for youths 
of limited intellect. Call it Colton Annex . 

Stong. Morris, did you ever have one serious thought in 
your head ? 

Mor. Never long enough to take effect. 

Stong. Will you wait for me a few minutes? I just want 
to drop this letter in the box. It’s an important one. 

Mor. Sure, I’ll wait. It will give me a chance to rest. 
I’m nearly all in to-day. 

Stong. You certainly look it. Why haven’t you been out 
on the river? I wish I had your chance for skating. 

Mor. Skating? Gee, I didn’t go to bed until four this 
morning, and perhaps I haven’t had a head since I got up. 

Stong. Morris ! But there, if I should talk I should only 
say things I’ve said before. I’ll be right back. Say, Morris, 
this letter means a great deal to me. Wish me luck, will you? 
Perhaps I’m foolish, but you’re the only one there is to do it. 

Mor. Of course I will. In whatever you undertake. Luck 
go with you. 

Stong. Thanks. [Exit. 

Mor. Luck ! Gee, I wish some one would wish me luck. 
If he knew the mess I’m in, I guess he’d think I had serious 
thoughts. What in the name of common sense am I going to 
do? Do? There isn’t anything I can do but let the crash 
come. (Sits down by table.) What a mess I’ve made of things ! 
Four hundred and fifty dollars to be paid by four o’clock, or 
Bernstien will write to father and come over here and tell 
the whole story to the faculty, and it’s half-past three and I’ve 
just two dollars and ninety-seven cents. The miserly old skin; 
why couldn’t he have given me a chance ? By Jove, I’m going 
to tell Stong about it. His advice is the best that I could 
have. If I’d listened to him weeks ago, I wouldn’t be where 
I am to-day. Four hundred and fifty dollars, and it took just 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


9 


two nights to pile that up. Heavens, I must have been crazy. 
Four hundred and fifty dollars would be nothing to father— 
and yet I might as well appeal to a stone post. I’ll be ex¬ 
pelled before the week is over, and father! I’ll never face 
father again as long as I live. I’ll light out for some place! 
Hanged if I won’t ! ( Brings hand down on table and moves 

aside some papers disclosing a pile of bank-notes.') Well, 
Stong’s careless enough about leaving his cash around. Great 
Scott, a hundred dollar bill ! Well, for the love of Mike, five 
hundred dollars ! Who in thunder would have believed it! 
Why, he’s a regular miser. Living up here in this attic and 
working day and night—and hoarding up money like that. 
What’s the sense ? Heaven, how I wish it was mine ! If—if 
—Stong would hurry up and come back I’d ask him to lend it 
to me. He wouldn’t mind, he’s so good-natured. He’d let 
me have it. He—he—he’d let me have it without even asking 
him if he just knew what a hole I’m in. Why in thunder 
doesn’t he come in ? It will be too late ! Bernstien may be 
on his way up here now for all I know, and then I’m finished. 
I’m not going to wait. I—I—know Stong won’t care, i’ll—I’ll 
make it all right. ( Writes and speaks as he writes.) “Back 
in fifteen minutes. Morris.” 

(Takes all but o?ie bill and exits. After a slight pause, 
Col. knocks at door. Knocks again.) 

Col. ( stepping in). I say, Stong ! Queer to go and leave 
his door open to the general public. Then I suppose he hasn’t 
anything very valuable up here anyway, and it gives the 
kids he tutors a chance to come in, rather than sit on the 
stairs. ( Picks up paper on table and reads.) “Back in 
fifteen minutes. Morris.” That is the son of Graham Morris, 
the coal king. I wonder how it feels to be the son of a man 
like that. If he was anything like his father, he wouldn’t be 
coming over here to have his lessons given to him instead of 
learning them himself. I guess if the truth were known, he and 
several others in his class are traveling a pretty rapid pace. I 
wonder if what Stong said is true about my influence over the 
younger crowd. It doesn’t seem possible, but if it is so, I am 
wasting a good many opportunities to do the right thing. 
Well, I’ll just leave Stong a note. (Sits doivn at table and 
writes. Hiram Skinner knocks.) Come in ! 

Enter Skin. 


10 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


Skin. You don’t happen ter be Edward Campbell, do yer r 

Col. No ; my name is Colfax. 

Skin. Wall, be this Campbell’s room? 

Col. No, it is not. Ezra Stong rooms here. Campbell 
doesn’t room in this building. 

Skin. Wall, I ain’t much surprised. Somehow, I expected 
ter find him in somethin’ kinder swell. 

Col. Well, that’s where you’ll find him. He’s No. 47 
Morton. 

Skin. Wall, ben’t this 47 Morton ? 

Col. No, this is 47 Moulton. There’s little difference in 
the names, but a big difference in the places. The wealthiest 
fellows in Colton room over there, and the poorest room here. 
The ones who are working their way through. 

Skin. Be ’t so? Wall, I’m glad I happened ter git in 
here. You don’t look as if you felt the pinch of poverty very 
hard. 

Col. 1 don’t belong here. I just came over to see one of 
the fellows. Perhaps I’d amount to more if I did belong here. 
I wish I was half the man that the fellow is who lives in this 
room. 

Skin. Young man, I’m glad ter hear yer talk that way. 
I’m glad ter know yer ain’t so stuck up but what yer 
can be friends with the poor chaps. What might yer name 
be ? 

Col. Hobart Colfax. 

Skin. By gum, I thought yer looked familiar. You’re the 
captain of the football team. Young man, I’m pleased ter 
take yer by the hand. I saw yer play Yale this fall. My 
niece, Florence Carter- 

Col. Is Florence Carter your niece ? Say, I am glad to 
know you. Sit right down. Here, take an easy chair. 

Skin. Yes, sir, she took me ter the game, an’ by gum, I 
ain’t hed so much fun in forty years. It wtiz the all firedest 
scrimmage I ever went ter an’ I couldn’t no more tell what 
wuz what; but Florence she- 

Col. Yes, what did she do ? 

Skin. She explained things and by gum, when her eyes 
get that bright an’ her cheeks get that red ! You know Flor¬ 
ence ? 

Col. Yes. 

Skin. Wall, then you know that look o’ hern ? 

Col. Well, rather ! Go on. 




THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


II 


Skin. Wall, when she’d get a-goin’ it, I’d get a-goin’ it 
too, an’ when she’d wave the Colton flag—— 

Col. Yes, when she’d wave the Colton flag ! 

Skin. I’d get so durned excited that I’d let out a yell yer 
could hear clean down in Sembroke County. Then I’d come 
to and think how 'shamed Florence would be of her uncle, but 
she never cared a straw. Nicest little gal that! 

Col. Yes! 

Skin. But you'd oughter seen us at the end when they wuz 
a-carryin’ you round the field. That’s when we did let loose. 
An’ a-goin’ home she told me some mighty fine things about 
you, you bet! An’ I’m proud ter know yer, young man. 

Col. Not any more than I am to know you. 

Skin. An’ now by cricky, I’m going to tell yer what I 
came up here for to-day. Do you know Edward Campbell ? 

Col. Yes, a little. 

Skin. Wall, what der yer know about him ? 

Col. He’s a freshman, just entered this year, you know. 
His father is a millionaire. He seems a pretty fair sort. A 
little bit wild but he’s very smart. He has great standing in 
his class, and I can’t imagine how, for I shouldn’t say that he 
ever opened a book. 

Skin. Wall, he’s cut one caper that he’ll find ain’t so 
tarnation smart before I git through with him. Last Saterday 
afternoon, Louisy, that’s my wife, an’ I went down ter 
Sembroke ter stay over Sunday. Saterday night the hired 
man went a-courtin’ his gal an’ there warn’t no one left at the 
house but young Timothy who helps on the farm. He’s about 
fifteen but he ain’t bright. He’s just about like a five year 
old kid. Wall, some time or ruther durin’ the evenin’ two 
fellers from here called at the house and wanted to buy a cow. 
Timothy wouldn’t sell at first but the one who called himself 
Edward Campbell promised ter pay sich a reediculous 
amount of money that Timothy thought he was doin’ some¬ 
thin’ big an’ let him hev the cow. Wall, of course, I sup¬ 
posed it was some more nonsense and thet I’d find the cow in 
some reediculous prediciment around the place somewhere, but 
we ain’t seen a sign o’ her. Now, I’ve stood all I’m a-goin’ 
ter from Colton students. They’ve a-kept me a-guessin’ ever 
since I bought the old Holcombe place, an’ this is the last 
straw. I ain’t goin’ ter stand nothin’ more. If Campbell 
don’t produce my cow, I’m a-goin’ ter the president o’ this 
school an’ see what kin be done. 



12 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


Col. Of course Campbell will tell you what he did with 
your cow. Who was the fellow he had with him ? 

Skin. Tina said he called him Tommy. Do you know 
who he might be ? 

Col. Ye-es, I think so. I tell you, Mr. Skinner, supposing 
I take you over to Campbell’s room. You’ll find, I think, that 
the boys will do the right thing. We aren’t any of us looking 
for trouble. 

Skin. All right, I’m with yer. [Exit Col. and Skin. 

Enter Stong. 

Stong. I’m sorry, Morris- He didn’t wait. I don’t 

blame him much. Here’s a note from Colfax. He’s been 
here too. {Reads.) “ I just came back to tell you that 1 will 
speak at that meeting to-night.” Good for him, and good for 
the boys, too. 

Enter Mor. 

Mor. Did I keep you waiting ? 

Stong. No; I just came in myself. If you ever get your 
breath, we’ll begin. 

Mor. Say, Stong, I— I want to tell you something before 
we start in. I—I’ve got myself into the deuce of a mess. 
Last Saturday night- 

Stong. See here, Morris, if you are in trouble and I can 
help you, tell me the trouble, not how you got into it. I don’t 
want to hear it. I can guess nearer than I like to. 

Mor. Well, then, I ran in debt, in two nights, four hundred 
and fifty dollars. 

Stong. Great Scott, kid, can’t you do any better than 
that? Well, I suppose your father will pay your bills for you. 

Mor. That’s just what he won’t do. If my life depended 
on it, he wouldn’t give me one cent over the amount he 
agreed to. If you knew the way my father treats me- 

Stong. There, cut that, kid; don’t whine to me about 
your father. I know how you are living, and who’s footing the 
bills. Go on with your tale of woe. 

Mor. Well, it came to the point that the money must be 
paid by four o’clock this afternoon or Bernstien was going to 
write to father and come up here to see President Sherman. 
It wasn’t the kind of story to be told to faculty. 

Stong. Well? 


l 





THE TURN IN THE ROAD 13 

Mor. Say, if you had the money you’d let me have it, 
wouldn’t you, Stong ? 

Stong. Oh, I dare say if I had plenty, I’d do a good many 
foolish things. Well, it’s after four; what did you do about it? 

Mor. Well, you see, you weren’t here to ask, and—and the 
time was drawing near—and—and I was afraid to wait any 
longer—so—so I—borrowed it of you- 

Stong. Borrowed what? 

Mor. Why, the money ! 

Stong. What are you gabbling about, Morris? You 
couldn’t borrow what I didn’t have. 

Mor. Why, yes, you did have it. There on the table— five 
hundred dollars. 

Stong. Do you mean to say that you stole that money from 
my table ? Speak, do you hear ? Speak ! 

(Pushes him back in chair.') 

Mor. Let up, Stong, you’re choking me ! I only bor¬ 
rowed — 

Stong. What did you do with it ? Where is the money 
now ? 

Mor. Why, I paid it to Bernstien. I didn’t suppose you’d 
be so stingy with your money. 

Stong. Mine ! It wasn’t mine 1 

Mor. Wasn’t yours? 

Stong. No ! Do you know what you’ve done, you contempt¬ 
ible little cur? That money was entrusted to me by Hobart 
Colfax. It was given by a club of seniors to be used for a 
fellow in your own class that you never even heard of. He’s 
the kind you don’t know anything about. A fellow who has 
nearly worked himself to death. Shoveling snow, taking care 
of furnaces, waiting on table, and studying from ten at night 
until three in the morning for the education which your father 
is giving to you, and you haven’t the brains to appreciate. 
This fellow is in the hospital now. That money was to pay for 
an operation and then send him back home and keep him going 
until he was on his feet again. ( Starts for door.) 

Mor. Where are you going ? 

Stong. I’m going to telegraph to your father. 

Mor. No, don’t do that! You won’t get it, anyway. 

Stong. Not get it if I tell him what it is for—and that you 
stole it ? I know better. 




H 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


Mor. You have no right to say that I stole it. I tell you I 
only borrowed it. 

Stong. Don’t say borrow to me again. You came into my 
room when I was out—and took money which you found here. 
You’re nothing but a common thief. 

Mor. I intend to pay it back. 

Stong. How? Why don’t you answer? How? 

Mor. If—if I should give you so much every week, couldn’t 
you pay the money to the fellow a little at a time, you know, 
and keep him going? I didn’t—didn’t take all of it, you 
know. You have something to start on. 

Stong. No. You left fifty dollars; extremely considerate 
of you. What you suggest could be done, but you wouldn’t do 
it if you agreed to. I wouldn’t trust you from here to the 
door. Besides, what would you suggest turning in to me? 
About ten cents a week ? Your present style of living must use 
up your income every week. 

Mor. I — I— could cut some things. 

Stong. Look here, Morris, I’ll give you a chance to redeem 
yourself, and, by Jove, you shall take it whether you want to or 
not. You go over to Morton and give up your room there and 
move over here. You can have half of this room at a mighty 
small figure. Your other expenses will be small. I’ll see to 
that. You’ll no longer have my services to pay for as you will 
stay in nights and do your own studying. 

Mor. But— I - 

Stong. Don’t talk back. You aren’t in any position to 
make comments. Just listen, and if you have any brains at 
all, try to comprehend what I am saying to you. There will 
be no more flunking in anything whatever. You will be able 
to pay in a reasonable amount every week. You have just one 
alternative. I’ll tell you what it is. If your things are not all 
over here within ten minutes’ time, I’ll telegraph to your father 
and also telephone to the police and have you arrested. Now 
what are you going to do ? 

Mor. There’s only one thing for me to do, and that’s as 
you say. I am at your mercy. Will I have to tell the fellows 
why I’m coming over here? 

Stong. Get out of it any way you like. It’s immaterial to 
me what you tell. Remember, just ten minutes ! 

Mor. Stong, I hate you ! And before we get through I’ll 
make you swallow some of the things you have said ! [ Exit . 

Stong. Oh, what a fool, fool, fool I was to leave that money 



THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


15 


here. I forgot it absolutely ! It was that confounded letter. 
It drove everything else out of my head. If it had been any 
one but the kid ! Heavens, how he’s drifting. He’ll be ruined 
completely if some one doesn’t get a hold on him. I guess I 
haven’t helped things much by making him hate me. 

Enter Hawk. 

Hawk. For goodness’ sake, Stong, has anything happened ? 
Stong. Yes, this whole world has gone wrong. Dan, I 
might as well tell you, young Morris is moving over here. 
Hawk. Here ? Into your room ? 

Stong. Yes. 

Hawk. Well, then you can say good-bye to me. 

Stong. Look here, Dan, the kid is down on his luck. 
Further down than you’ll ever be if you live to be a hundred. 
I tell you he needs your sympathy and your friendship. Give 
it to him. 

Hawk. Can you go over to the hospital to see Stevens for 
a few minutes? He particularly wants to tell you something 
this afternoon. 

Stong. Certainly. I will go at once. 

[Exeunt Stong and Hawk. 

Enter Mor., with a suit-case and a small chair. Edward 
Campbell then enters with a large chair which is piled 
high with cushions , etc . 

Camp. Lead me to it, Teddy. I can’t see for dust. Have 
I arrived ? 

Mor. Yes. For heaven’s sake, put the stuff down ! 

Camp. Come on, fellows. It’s great when you get up here. 
Two more flights. Turn to your left, and it’s the fourth door 
back on the opposite side. 

Enter Thomas Toodles with arms full of pillows, pictures in 
his hands , and a feather-duster sticking out from the 
pillows. 

Toodles. D-d-d-d-don’t shove ! W-w-w-wait a minute. 
I’ve d-d-d-dropped a feather out of the d-d-d-duster. 

Enter Edwards, carrying a small chair and a collection of 
college flags , etc , 


i6 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


Edwards. Fourth floor ! All out! Ladies’ coats, suits, 
separate shirts and shirt-waists ! Come on, Donny ! 

Enter Montgomery Donaldson, carrying a waste-paper 
basket full of things. 

Don. What a perfectly beastly place to live in ! What 
could you be thinking of, Theodore, to so suddenly amass your 
belongings and transport them to such an incongruous place as 
this ? 

Camp. Yes, Theodore, how could you? 

Toodles. It’s a d-d-d-d- 

Edwards. Whoops! You’re off! 

Toodles. - d-d-d-deuced queer move ! 

All. Hurrah ! 

Edwards. You’ve got there, Toodles. 

Don. What Thomas says is undeniably true. Theodore, 
why this sudden transition? 

Toodles 1 (toretheA Oh—p p p-piffle ! 

Edwards)'- * '* Oh— o-o-o ! ( Groans .) 

Camp. Yes, Theodore, why this sudden flitting from the 
family nest ? 

Mor. Oh, chuck it! You all make me tired. 

Toodles. N-n-n-n-naughty! 

Camp. It isn’t very nice to be so peevish when we’re help¬ 
ing you move. 

Edwards. But what in thunder are you moving for? 

Don. And way up here to this place so remote from our 
little world ! 

Mor. Well, it’s the best thing for me to do. 

All. Why ? 

Camp. Chorus ! Now, fellows ! 

All ( singing ). Why—why—oh, tell us why? 

Mor. Tell you nothing. You are the darnedest bunch of 
idiots that I ever met. 

Camp. Don’t be so complimentary. You make me posi¬ 
tively blush. 

Edwards. Oh, come on. Tell us. We didn’t mean any 
harm ! 

Don. We will be attentive. 

Mor. Well, I’m not getting along very well in classes. 

Edwards. What ? 

Toodles. T-t-t-t-t- 

Camp. Can it be ? 





THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


l 7 


Mor. And my father won’t stand for it, and—and—so I’m 
going to stay over here with Slong for a while—and with his 
help, perhaps I’ll get some kind of a standing. Enough to 
please my father, anyway. 

Edwards. I’ll bet Stong used his influence for this. He 
knew it would be a good thing for him. 

Mor. He didn’t. If any one of you hints a word against 
Ezra Stong, I’ll punch his head for him. If you’re going to 
be friends with me, you’ve got to be friends with the man I’m 
rooming with. And another thing, if you come up here to see 
me, and you find any of his friends here, you treat them the 
way you do me. You understand? 

Don. Certainly! 

( They stand Mor. up in a chair. ) 

All. Three cheers! Who’d have thought it? Per-p-p-p- 

Speech ! 

Mor. I’ve finished. I haven’t anything more to say. I’m 
going over to Morton for some more things. [Exit. 

Camp. Gee ! Morris is upset about something. 

Don. Probably he is in receipt of a letter from his father. 

Edwards. You’re it, Donny ! 

Toodles. D-d-d-d-d- 

Camp. There you go ! 

Toodles. D-d-d-don't you think we’d b-b-better p-p*p- 

Edwards. Settle this room ? Yes. 

Camp. Sure, come on ! Put this chair here ! 

Edwards. No, that looks like the deuce ! 

Toodles. Have you g-g-g-g™— 

Camp. And this one here ! ( Knocks Toodles down.) For 
goodness’ sake, 'Toodles, look where you’re going. 

Toodles. G-g-g g-got any tacks? 

Edwards. Yes. Here’s a whole paper. 

Don. I wonder where Stong seeks his repose? 

Camp. There’s a sliding couch in the alcove. 

Edwards. For the love of Mike, Tommy, don’t put up that 
fencing girl poster ! 

Toodles. W-w-w-why not? 

Camp. Stong would never seek any more repose with that 
in the room. 

Don. No, Toodles, secrete it. 

Toodles. W-w-w-what? 

Camp. Isn’t she a peach, though? 






i8 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


Toodles. Ti-t-t-t-t- 

Edwards. Yes, some class ! 


Enter Col., followed by Skin. 


Col. Well, what in thunder are you fellows up to? 

Camp. Why, why, how do you do, Mr. Colfax? 

Toodles. W-w-w-won’t you sit down? 

Edwards. We’re just helping Morris move. 

Col. Move? Over here? To Stong’s room? 

All. ) Yes ! 

Toodles. j Y-y-y-yes! 

Don. Extraordinary as it may seem, we are engaged in 
arranging Morris’ belongings in this humble domicile. 

Col. Campbell, I’ve looked everywhere for you, and 
Morris just told me you were up here. Mr. Skinner, this is 
Edward Campbell. And, Toodles, were you with Campbell 
Saturday night ? 

Toodles. Y-y-y-yes! 

Col. Then I guess, Mr. Skinner, this is Tommy. 

Toodles. Y-y-y-yes, I’m T-t-t-Tommy ! 

Camp. I’m sure, Mr. Skinner, I’m glad to meet you. 

Skin. Not any gladder’n I be ter meet you. I’ve been 
a-chasin’ all over this place a-huntin’ fer yer fer the last halt 
hour. If it hadn’t ’a’ been for this friend o’ yourn here I’d 
’a’ gone ter President Sherman instead a-wastin’ my time 
a-lookin’ fer you. But Colfax here insisted on seein’ you 
first. I’ve got one question ter ask yer before I make yer any 
trouble. What did you and yer friend Tommy do with my 
cow ? 


Camp. 

Toodles 



Skin. Cow. C-o-w. 

Camp. I don’t know anything about your cow. 

'Poodles. N-n-n-no! 

Skin. That won’t go, young man ! I ain’t a-goin’ ter 
have any more foolin’. I’m a-goin’ ter have my cow or I’ll 
know the reason why. 

Col. Just a. minute, Mr. Skinner. A crowd of fellows 
from your class was down to the city Saturday night. You 
fellows were all in the crowd ? 

All. | Yes ! 

Toodles. j Y-y-y-yes! 



THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


19 


Col. Campbell, how did it happen that you and Toodles 
left the crowd and came back by yourselves? Of course, fel¬ 
lows, it isn’t any of my business. I’m just trying to help you 
out. You don’t want Mr. Skinner to go to the faculty, do 
you ? 

Camp. No, we certainly don’t; but we can’t tell you why 
we came home ahead of the crowd. 

Toodles. N-n-no, w-w-we c-c-can’t. 

Skin. I suppose you don’t deny being on my premises 
Saturday night ? 

Camp. No, I don’t deny it. We were there. 

Toodles. Y-y-y-yes ! W-w-w-we were there ! 

Edwards. You were? Great Scott ! 

Skin. Wall, then, I don’t suppose you’ll deny buyin’ my 
cow ? 

Camp. I do deny it, most decidedly ! 

Skin. Wall, what in tunket did yer leave yer name for— 
Edward Campbell, Colton freshman—Morton 47—so I could 
call an’ git my money ? Answer me that. 

Edwards. If the money is what you want, Mr. Skinner, I 
guess there’s enough of us to pay for the cow. How much is 
the bill ? 

Don. Yes, most assuredly; before we would see class¬ 
mates involved in circumstances so unfortunate and embar¬ 
rassing. 

Skin. It ain’t the money I want. It’s the cow ! I didn’t 
want ter sell and I wouldn’t take five thousand dollars for that 
cow. 

Toodles. W-w-w-what in time w-w-would we d-d-d-do 
with a c-c-c-c-cow? 

Skin. That’s what I want ter find out. What might you 
claim you were doin’ on my premises ? 

Camp. We don’t claim what we were doing. We can’t tell 
you anything about it, but we don’t know anything about your 
cow. 

Skin. That’s too thin ! As long as you want trouble, we’ll 
have it. I’m ready ! 

Col. Mr. Skinner, don’t be hasty. Give the fellows a 
chance. After a little consideration the boys will surely see 
things right and return your cow. There are reasons why we 
don’t want anything said to the faculty about last Saturday 
night. As a personal favor to me, please give the fellows a 
little time. 


20 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


Skin. Wall, if yer want ter put it that way, I’ll give them 
a week ter return my cow. Remember, one week. And if I 
don’t see my cow by that time you’ll see me down here again, 
an’ it’ll mean trouble. I’ve stood all the nonsense from Col¬ 
ton students I’m a-goin’ to. [ Exit. 

Col. Say, fellows, return that man’s cow and slop this 
nonsense. There’s a pretty unsavory story floating around 
about last Saturday night, and it doesn’t do Colton any good. 
If it reaches President Sherman he won’t show any mercy. 

Camp. Mr. Colfax, I haven’t his cow. Supposing I had 
bought it, what in heaven’s name could I have done with it ? 

Col. I don’t know. Some of you are capable of doing 
most anything. [Exit. 

Toodles. D-d-d-d-d- 

Camp. He doesn’t believe me either. Here’s a nice state 
of affairs. Toodles, where do we keep our cow ? 

Toodles. D-d-darn! 

Camp. Johnny, I didn’t leave my cow in your room last 
night, did I ? 

Edwards. I didn’t notice. I’ll look when I go back. 
What in thunder were you fellows doing on Skinner’s place 
Saturday night ? 

Toodles. P-p-p-pickin’ d-d-d-daffy-dills. 

Don. It doesn’t seem to me to be a subject for levity and 
flightiness. 

Camp. No, it isn’t, when you come right down to it. Some 
confounded idiot has put up a joke on me and there’s nothing 
for me to do but produce a cow. Say, we’ll get after Morris. 
He has a good head for pulling out of scrapes. 

Don. Yes, his ability to evade the consequences of his 
foolhardy actions is remarkable in the extreme. 

Toodles. G-g-g-going to finish p-p-p-puttin’ this stuff up? 

Camp. Yes, come on ! 

(Toodles, Camp, and Don. put up flags at the back of 
stage.) 

Edwards. Great Scott, what a mess I’ve landed Campbell 
in, and how in time am I going to pull out of it ? Who’d ever 
dreamed the old duffer wouldn’t take his money? I’d give a 
farm if I knew what became of the cow. It was very careless 
of me to misplace her. If I should tell any one that I lost a 
cow on the main road from here to Sembroke ! 



THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


21 




Don. Our efforts have not been in vain. The place actu¬ 
ally has a festive look. 

Camp. Yes, good imitation of the five and ten, the week 
before Christmas. 

Edwards. Teddy ought to appreciate our labors. Wonder 
where he is. 

Camp. Pipe up, Donny, give us something cheerful. We’ve 
trouble enough coming to us. We need something cheerful to 
start on. 

Don. If you’ll join your voices with mine in a melody 
familiar to us all. 

(Song : “ Rally Rally Boys .”) 

Enter Mor. and Stong. 

Mor. Fellows, this is Stong. 

Toodles. D-d-d-d-delighted ! 

Camp. Glad to know you. 

Edwards. I believe we’ve met before. 

Don. Pleased I am sure. 

Stong (aside). Doesn’t look as if I’d be lonesome any more. 

Camp. Don’t study too hard, old man. 

Toodi.es. Leave it t-t-to T-t-Ted. 

Edwards. No, go easy at first. An over dose is apt to 
have fatal consequences. Coming with us to-night, old man ? 

Don. Do not discourage him in a righteous effort in 
scholastic research. 

Camp. Here's to Theodore Morris, the pride of the Colton 
freshmen. 

Edwards. Three times three ! 

All. ) Good -night, Ted ! 

Toodles. j Good-night, T-t-t-Ted ! 

Mor. Good-night. 

(Boys exit singing , “He’s a jolly good fellow .” Mor. 
stands watching them and then drops down in a chair.) 

Stong. Say, Morris, I—I—don’t want you to take this 
thing too hard ! I- 

Mor. Don’t offer me pity. I can stand anything but that. 
Stong, I realize what I have been doing since I came up here 
and what a mess I’ve made of things. You may not believe 
in what I am saying, but I’ve come to the turn in the road 



22 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


and I’m going to live a different life. Don’t force me. All 
my life I’ve been forced and when I came here and had my 
first liberty, it was more than I could stand. Stong, I need 
your help. Will you give it to me? 

Stong. With all my heart and soul. 


CURTAIN 


ACT II 


SCENE.— Same as Act I. 

(As curtain rises Stong is studying. Hawk, and Mor. 
sit together. Hawk, is helping Mor. with lessons.') 

Hawk. Now do you understand ? 

Mor. No, I don’t. 

Hawk. Don’t you grasp the idea at all ? 

Mor. No, I’m hanged if I do. I could grasp a hunk of 
apple pie if I should see it about this time, but I can’t grasp 
the meaning of that stuff. 

Stong. If you’d let your mind soar above your stomach 
you might be able to. 

Mor. Oh, quit your kidding. If I starve to death, you 
won’t think it’s such a joke ! 

Hawk. You’re the hungriest proposition I ever met, Ted. 
Why, the hired hand on Dad’s farm isn’t a comparison. 

Mor. Don’t you take sides with Stong. Tell me that all 
over again, will you? That’s a good fellow ! 

Stong (aside; watching them). “ It will be the happiest 
moment of my life when I pour a dish of hot soup down his 
neck.” Oh, you Ted ! It’s taken him just five days to get 
around Hawkins for keeps. 

Mor. Eureka ! Hurrah ! Three cheers ! Colton ! 
America ! 

Stong. Will you kindly explain the meaning of such an 
unseemly disturbance ? 

Mor. I have grasped an idea. 

Stong. I don’t wonder that you want to celebrate. 

Mor. Oh, take a fellow your own size ! Why say, I’ve 
studied two hours. By George, I’ll have brain fatigue and 
then you fellows will wish you hadn’t been so cruel ! I’m 
going out on the pond. Are you going out, Stong ? 

Stong. Yes. 

Mor. Gee, Stong, Hawkins ought not to cough so much. 
What in thunder are we going to do about him anyway? 

2 3 






24 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


Stong. I don’t know. He’s overworked, no question 
about that, but I suppose something will happen so that we 
can get around it in some way. Say, Dan, will you stay here, 
and keep our room open? I’ll be right back. I’m expecting 
Colfax. 

Hawk. All right. I’ll stay. 

Mor. See you later, old man. [Exit Stong and Mor. 

Hawk. Great kid, that! I wonder whatever happened to 
make him come over here to live. This is a mighty different 
place than it was a week ago. Well, I’ll have a go at this 
stuff. I’d rather chop wood. (Don. knocks.') Come in. 

Enter Don. and Toodles. 

Toodles. H-h-h-hello, H-h-h-Hawkins. 

Don. Good-afternoon. 

Hawk. Hello ! Will—will you sit down ? I am alone 
here. I think Stong will be right in but Morris has gone 
skating. 

Don. r Fheodore’s activity is so manifest that it is positively 
tiring to his agile associates. 

[oodles. S-skating ? I w-w-wish I d-d-didn’t have any* 
thing else t-t-t-t-to think of. I—t-t-t-t—hang ! 

Don. Perhaps, Thomas, I can state the case for you. We 
are glad indeed to find you alone, Hawkins. We would pro¬ 
pound a few questions if we may? 

Toodles. Y-y-y-yes, if you d-d-d-don’t mind? 

Hawk. Why, no, of course not. I’ll be glad to answer if 
I can. 

Toodles. T-t-t-t-thanks! 

Don. You have spent your young days, I take it, in sylvan 
districts ? 

Hawk. Would you mind repeating the last? 

Don. In sylvan districts. Those where fields and flowers 
abound. 

Hawk. Oh, yes, I was born and brought up in the back 
woods of Maine. 

Don. On an agricultural estate. 

Hawk. Yes, on a farm. 

Don. Then without a doubt you are familiar with the 
modes and customs of cows. 

Toodles. Y-y-yes, of c-c-cows ! 

Hawk. Of the modes and customs of cows ! Oh, yes, I 
know a cow when I see one. 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


25 


Don. Well, so far, so good ! Now, if you wanted to trace 
a cow which had been stolen, what in your opinion would be 
the most expeditious way of doing it ? 

Toodles. Y-y-yes, h-h-how would you do it? 

Hawk. Find a cow which had been stolen ? Is this a 
detective job or is it my own cow which I’m to find ? 

Don. Oh, most assuredly your own cow, but one which 
you have never seen. 

Hawk, (aside). What kind of a jolly do they think they’re 
giving me ? By Jove, I’ll give them an answer. Well, it is a 
little hard to find a cow you’ve never seen. I suppose you’ve 
heard that no two cows have eyes alike and that no cow ever 
had two eyes alike. 

Toodles. N-n-n-no ! 

Don. How extraordinary ! 

Hawk. You never knew that? But then why should you ? 
You have lived all your lives in the city. Well, the only way 
to trace a lost cow is by her eyes. You would have to find 
some one who had seen the cow and get a description of the 
eyes and then you could easily find her. 

Toodles. G g-g-good gracious ! 

Don. Marvelous ! 

Hawk. Yes, isn’t it ? I’ve often thought so myself. You 
know sometimes they have one blue eye and one black one, 
and sometimes two black eyes with a rim of pink around one 
and a rim of green around the other. 

Toodles. M-m-m-mercy! 

** Don. You interest me exceedingly, Hawkins. I think I 
will study into the unusual conditions existing in the rural 
regions of our country. No doubt you could tell me many 
things equally surprising. 

Hawk. You bet I could. That isn’t a patch on what I could 
tell if I should get started. 

Don. We had better wend our way, Thomas. I have a 
brilliant idea. We are duly grateful to you for your timely 
assistance. 

Toodles. Y-y-y-yes, t-t-thanks, old man ! 

Hawk. Don’t mention it. {Exit Toodles and Don.) 
Well, what do you know about that ? Gosh, they believed it ! 
Probably they will wend their way to some sylvan district and 
gaze into the eyes of the cows they meet. One thing is sure, 
they won’t see anything more extraordinary when they gaze at 
the cows than the cows will see when they return the gaze. 


26 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


“ Your own cow but one which you never saw ! ” I wonder 
what kind of a joke this is, anyway ? 

Enter Edwards. 

Edwards. Hello, Hawkins, have the fellows been up here ? 
I can’t find any of them. 

Hawk. Donaldson and Toodles have just gone out. 
Morris is skating. Say, Edwards, will you tell me what ails 
Donaldson ? I think some of his friends ought to look after 
him. Do you think he’s in his right mind all of the time ? 

Edwards. Oh, yes, he’s harmless enough. Noah Webster 
was one of his ancestors and his family have never recovered 
from it. Donny cut his teeth on the dictionary. I guess I’ll 
chase after the kid. Say, Hawkins, did you ever get into a 
scrape in your life ? 

Hawk. Yes, I played hookey from school once and went 
down to the village to the circus. 

Edwards. Oh, quit! I mean something serious. 

Hawk. Well, that was quite serious enough for me. It 
was one of the tragic events of my life. I walked five miles 
to the village and the first person I met when I got inside of 
the circus tent was my father and I had to walk five miles 
home again without seeing the show. 

Edwards. Gee, that was tough lines, wasn’t it? Say, 
you’ve always lived in the country, haven’t you ? 

Hawk. Yes. 

Edwards. Well, then, probably you are familiar with cows. 

Hawk. With cows ? 

Edwards. Yes, their peculiarities. They don’t have spells 
of shrinking, do they ? 

Hawk. Well, I never happened to be present during such 
a spell. What’s the joke ? 

Edwards. You just bet it isn’t any joke. Now, listen, 
Hawkins, because it’s really important. I never was in such 
a mess in my life. If—if you were going along a road, a 
perfectly straight road, and you were leading a cow, a perfectly 
straight cow and you should turn around for a minute and 
when you turned back again you weren’t leading the cow, and 
the cow had disappeared, and there wasn’t any place for the 
cow to disappear to, now what would you think ? 

Hawk. I should think I had ’em ! 


Enter Camp. 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 2J 

Camp. Johnny, for heaven’s sake, come out of this. 
Where’s Toodles ? 

Hawk. He went out with Donaldson. 

Edwards. What’s the matter ? 

Camp. Skinner is here. He’s on his way over here now. 
He’s looking for me. He’s going to kick up the deuce of a 
row ! We mustn’t see him. 

Edwards. Confound it, no ! Not yet! 

Camp. Hawkins, if you have any feeling for any of us, any 
love and pride in Colton, help us tiow. This confounded old 
duffer is after me. You—you stay here and meet him and 
hang on to him. Don’t let him out of your sight. Not for one 
minute, and talk to him, talk his head off! Keep his mind 
occupied, don’t give him time to think, and whatever you do, 
don’t speak the word—cow. [Exeunt Camp, and Edwards. 

Hawk. Well, I’ll be - Has every one gone daffy on 

the subject of cows ? 

(Skin, knocks and enters .) 

Skin. Be you Stong ? 

Hawk. No, sir, I’m not. 

Skin. Wall, don’t Stong ever be in his own room ? 

Hawk. Why, yes, sometimes. Won’t you sit down and 
wait? I think he’ll be right in. 

Skin. Oh, it ain’t him I want ter see. It’s Campbell. 
Edward Campbell. A feller over in his room told me he wuz 
over here in Stong’s room. By cricky, you don’t any of yer 
seem ter stay in yer own room. Ye’re always in some other 
feller’s. Have yer seen Campbell ? 

Hawk. Yes, sir, he has been here, but he has gone. 

Skin. I’ll bet he has. By Jiminy, he kept me a-going from 
one place to another a-huntin’ fer him all last Monday after¬ 
noon. Does he ever stop travelin’ fer anything ? 

Hawk. Yes; breakfast, dinner and supper. 

Skin. Wall, you don’t look as if you even stopped fer meals. 
I tell yer what, boy, yer ought not to cough that way. How 
long yer been at it? 

Hawk. Oh, a couple of months, I guess. I got cold, and 
I can’t seem to shake the cough. It’s better, though. I’m all 
right. 

Skin. Wall, it’s more than yer look. You belong in this 
building ? 

Hawk. Yes, sir; across the hall. 



28 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


Skin. Then I take it ye’re one o’ those boys that Colfax chap 
was a-tellin’ about, that’s working their way through. 

Hawk. Well, supposing 1 am? I’m not alone. I have 
plenty of company, and I’m not doing half of what some of the 
boys are doing. 

Skin. Boy, who in heaven’s name be yer, and where do yer 
come from ? 

Hawk. Why, my name is Hawkins—and my home is in 
Maine. 

Skin. What wuz yer mother’s name before she wuz married, 
and where did she come from ? 

Hawk. Why ! Rose Skinner, and she lived in Sutland, 
Vermont. Did you know her ? 

Skin. Did you ever hear her mention a brother—Hiram ? 

Hawk. Why, yes, of course. 

Skin. Wall, I’m Hiram Skinner. 

Hawk. You? Then you are my uncle ! 

Skin. That’s who I be, an* I knew it the minit I got a good 
look at yer. You’ve got Rose’s face, an’ just her way of smiling 
an’ speakin’. 

Hawk. Yes, I know I have. Say, but I’m glad- 

Skin. Hold on a minit! Did yer mother ever tell yer why 
she ain’t heard from me all these years? 

Hawk. No, sir. 

Skin. Wall, yer wait until I’ve told yer, and yer mayn’t 
want ter shake hands. Yer mother is well? (Hawk, nods .) 
An’ yer father’s livin’ ? 

Hawk. Yes, sir. 

Skin. Yer may have heard yer mother tell that yer grand¬ 
father died when she wuz a little gal, an’ I bein’ more’n ten 
years older’n her, naturally looked out fer her. She lived with 
me, an’ I provided for her, an’ I got ter think thet she must do 
jest ez I wanted her to. Wall, when she got ter lovin’ your 
father, I wouldn’t listen fer a minit. Thar wuz a young minis¬ 
ter at the church, an’ he wuz wild ’bout Rose, an’ I wuz dead 
set for it, but she wouldn’t listen. Finally, one night, I told 
her she could give up young Hawkins or git out o’ my house. 
The next day she went ter the young minister’s with Hawkins, 
an’ by cricky, the feller thet wuz in love with her married her 
to another man. Hawkins took her home thet night to his 
mother, an' a month later they left fer some place in Maine. 
She tried ter see me ’fore she went, and she wrote after she got 
down in Maine, but I returned the letter without ever opening 



THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


2 9 


it. I swore I’d never see her agin. Five years went by an’ 
then my boy died. Dan wuz jest a baby when she went away, 
an’ she worshiped him. Then I wrote ter her an’ the letter 
came back. They’d moved away an’ nobody knew where. 
It served me right. I never wanted anything in my life as I 
wanted Rose then, an’ I've wanted her ever since. Now, lad, 
do yer want ter call me uncle? 

Hawk. I surely do. My mother, I know, never held any 
ill feeling toward you. Why should I? 

Skin. Lord, I can’t realize the luck that sent me down 
here. Ter think Rosie’s got a boy right here in Colton 
a-workin’ himself ter death fer an edication, and an uncle almost 
within a stone’s throw with so much he don’t know what ter 
do with it, but thar, we won’t talk about it now. I want thet 
you should come out with me and find Campbell. I’ve got ter 
speak ter him ’bout my cow. 

Hawk. Your what? 

Skin. Cow ! Cow S [Exit. 

Hawk. (following him). Well, for the love of- 

Enter Edwards and Camp. 

Camp. You’re sure they’ve gone out? 

Edwards. Yes ; there they go over toward Lover’s Lane. 

Camp. What in time do you suppose they were talking about 
so long ? 

Edwards. Hanged if I can imagine ! Hawkins is a good 
one to get him away. 

Camp. It’s no use. I might as well give up. I’m finished 
for sure. 

Edwards. 


Campbell bought a little cow, 

And started on his way. 

He lost her, ah, he knows not how, 

And now the deuce is to pay ! 

Camp. Oh, forget it. You won’t feel so blamed lively after 
Mr. Skinner has seen President Sherman. You seem to forget 
that all of that night’s adventures will come to light, and where 
will we all be after the cyclone strikes? 

Edwards. Back in the haunts of our boyhood days. 
Seriously, Ned, I realize that we haven’t any of us the ghost 
of a show, even for probation. We lost our heads for sure that 



3° 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


last night at Bernstien’s. We have shut every one up excepting 
Skinner, and if it wasn’t for his confounded cow ! 

Camp. Yes, how can I produce a cow I never bought, I 
never saw, and as far as we can find out no one else ever saw ? 
I’ve exhausted every resource. By Jove, if I could get my 
hands on the fellow that bought that cow in my name. 

Edwards. Read this, Ned. (Hands him a slip of paper .) 

Camp, (reading). “ Found on the Sembroke road, near the 
Seaton road, on the night of February 26th—a cow. Address 
Woodstock—Box 65.” Where did you get this? It’s my 
cow ! 

Edwards. Yes, I think it must be. I cut it out of the 
Sembroke Chronicle. 

Camp. If I’d only seen it before so I could have answered 
before Skinner got down here. 

Edwards. I answered it. 

Camp. You did? What did you say 

Edwards. Asked them to call at this room this afternoon 
at four. 

Camp. And it’s five minutes of. Jack, you’ve saved my 
life. 

Edwards. Hold on, old man. Wait until we see how 
things turn out. Here’s some one coming now. 

Enter Don. and Toodles. 

Toodles. F-f-f-f-fellows, 1 - 1 - 1 -listen ! 

Don. Yes, give us your attention. We have learned of 
scientific developments in cows of which we never dreamed. 

Toodles. Y-y-yes, w-w-we have f-f-f-found out h-h-hhow 
to do it. 

Edwards } ("***»•)• Do what ? 

Don. Trace a cow which has deviated. 

Toodles. Y-y-y-yes! 

Camp. Indeed ? Well, we shall be delighted to be enlight¬ 
ened. 

Toodles. D-d-d-d-d —— 

Edwards. Yes, for goodness’ sake, fire away. Tommy 
looks as if he would burst in a minute if you don’t. How are 
you going to trace our cow ? 

Don. By her dissimilar optics. 

Toodles. Y-y-y-yes, b-b-b-by her eyes. 



THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


3 1 


Camp. Oh, gosh! 

Edwards. There, my lad, sit here. This excitement has 
affected your mind. I was afraid it would. 

Toodles. B-b-y-b- 

Don. I protest against your foolishness, John. It can easily 
be done. No two cows have eyes alike. No cow has two eyes 
alike. 

Edwards. Sh, hush ! There, don’t take it so hard. (Col, 
knocks .) Come in ! 

Enter Col. 

Col. Hello, fellows! 

Don. Good-afternoon! 

Edwards. How do you do? 

Toodles. H-h-h-hello. 

Camp. Here, have this chair. 

Col. No, don’t get up ! I wish you fellows would stop 
acting as if I was the president of Colton. There’d be some 
chance of our getting friendly if you would. 

Edwards. Do you want to be friends with us? 

Toodles. Y-y-yes, d-d-d-do you? 

Col. Well, you didn’t think I wanted to be enemies, did 
you ? 

Don. Certainly not, but we realize how multitudinous are 
your duties and how many friends and acquaintances you have 
to make demands upon your valuable time. 

Col. Always time for a few more friends. Campbell, have 
you succeeded in producing a cow for Mr. Skinner? 

Camp. Mr. Colfax, if—if any one else says cow to me I 
won’t answer for the consequences. My nerves are getting on 
edge. 

Edwards. I wish we could make you believe, Mr. Colfax, 
that the fellows didn’t have anything to do with the loss of 
Mr. S.’s cow. 

Toodles. Y-y-yes, w-w-we never saw his c-c-cow. W-w- 
we never wanted to see his c-c-cow. W-w-we w-w-wouldn’t 
know what to d-d-do with a c-c-cow if w-we had one. 

Col. I guess that’s right, Toodles. I’ll tell you frankly, 
Campbell, that last Monday I believed that you were mixed up 
in the affair, but on Tuesday I overheard a conversation be¬ 
tween you and Toodles that settled things. Then I tried to 
think up a way of helping you out. It was the hardest thing I 
ever undertook. I didn’t dare to say anything to anybody for 
fear something would leak out about your racket at Bernstien's. 



3 2 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


Camp. Mr. Colfax, how do you know anything about 
Bernstien’s ? 

Col. I was there. 

Toodles. W-w-what? 

Don. At Bernstien’s ? 

Col. Yes. 

Camp. That night ? 

Col. Yes. It was this way. My father came up to Sem- 
broke that day on business. He telephoned out here for me 
to come down to Bernstien’s to supper. He had a private 
room. It was the next one to yours. It was absolutely im¬ 
possible not to hear what was said and guess at what was going 
on. The most of your crowd weren’t in any condition to care 
whether you were overheard or not. That was why I thought 
it more than likely that you visited Mr. Skinner’s place that 
night. When I found out my mistake 1 tried to find a way 
out of the muddle. It seems as if the deuce was to pay 
that night. The S. I. X. boys were out in full force initiating 
new members, and they never know where to stop. It was 
very evident that some one had taken Mr. Skinner’s cou r , and 
it was more than likely that in some way they had lost her, for 
it was Monday when he was here and the cow r hadn’t been 
returned. No matter how crazy headed a crowd may be they 
wouldn’t be insane enough to steal a cow from a man like Mr. 
Skinner. Probably if there hadn’t been secrets to have been 
kept and you could have spoken out good and loud in regard 
to the matter, you could have got at the truth of the thing that 
night. Well, I thought I’d see if 1 could discover if the cow 
had been found, so I sent an ad to the Sembroke Chronicle. 
The idiots printed it in the wrong column, so that it read—. 
found a cow, instead of lost one. Will you look at this ! 
Answers ! I used to think there were a few honorable men in 
the world. I have received letters from seventeen Woodstock 
farmers claiming that they lost a cow, and without a doubt it’s 
the one I found. If what they say is true, there was something 
doing among the Woodstock cows on the evening of the 26th. 

Edwards. Is this your ad ? 

Col. Yes. 

(Skin, knocks.') 

Camp. Good-night ! 

Col. So, as near as I can see, we’re just where we were a 
week ago to-day. 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


33 


Edwards. Well, it isn’t your fault, and I tell you what it 
is, Mr. Colfax, we appreciate what you’ve tried to do for us. 

(Skin, knocks .) 

Camp. You bet we do. 

Toodles. Y-y-y-yes! 

Don. Most assuredly. 

Enter Skin. 

Skin. Don’t think I come in ’thout knockin’; I didn’t. I 
knocked twice, but you’re so durned excited in here you don’t 
know what’s goin’ on outside. Wall, boys, I got my cow all 
right. Who vvuz the other four ? 

All. What ? 

Skin. Boys, o’ course. 

Col. We don’t quite understand. You say your cow was 
returned ? 

Skin. (looking at Camp.). Why, o’ course. 

Camp. Don’t look at me. I don’t know anything about 
that cow. 

Toodles. N-n-n-no! 

Skin. Yer don’t? Wall, who in tunket did send her home 
with a pink ribbon ’round her neck and a card sayin’, “ With 
the compliments o’ the six” ? 

Col. I’ll tell you, Mr. Skinner. The six is a secret society 
called the S. I. X. They were initiating new members that 
night, which accounts for many things. 

Camp. It accounts for our being on Mr. Skinner’s place. 

Toodles. Y-y-y-yes. 

Edwards. Yes, and as long as the six have made the 
thing public it gives me a right to speak. It accounts for the 
fact that I bought Mr. Skinner’s cow. 

All. You ? 

Skin. By gum ! 

Don. Will marvels never cease ? 

Camp. What in thunderation did you give my name for? 

Edwards. I didn’t. I said Campbell Edwards—Mor¬ 
ton 74, and that kid at the farm got it just the other way to— 
Edward Campbell—Morton 47. 

Skin. That’s Timothy out an’ out! 

Edwards. I haven’t any right to tell what Tommy I had 
with me, but it wasn’t Tommy Toodles, 


34 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


Toodles. N-n-n-no! 

Skin. I don’t want thet you boys should think thet I’m too 
onreasonable, but I wuz put out when I lost that cow, an’ I 
hev stood a heap from Colton students. Now I want ter make 
up for whatever hard things I said last Monday, so if you’ll all 
be ready Friday night, I’ll be down with a couple o’ double 
sleighs and we’ll hev a ride out ter the farm, and my niece 
Florence Carter’ll be out thar with some o’ her friends an’ 
we’ll hev a supper an’- 

Camp. Hurrah ! Three cheers ! 

Toodles. L-l-lovely! 

Col. I’ll be there ! 

Edwards. Lead me to it ! 

Col. Say, fellows, come on out and help me find Morris. 

I just happened to think that I have some good news for him. 

All. All right. Sure, we will! [ Exeunt all. 

Enter Mor. 

Mor. Deserted? That’s something unusual. Dan’s a 
good one to keep a room open. ( Boys call from outside.') 
Hello, what’s going on ? 

Camp. Say, Teddy, are you up there? 

Mor. Yes; what’s the trouble ? Building on fire? 

Enter boys, followed by Col. 

Edwards. Say, you’re the fellow! Three cheers for 
Teddy. 

Camp. Didn’t we always tell you that you were the pride of 
the Colton freshmen? 

Don. Here’s Mr. Colfax, who wishes to see you. 

Toodles. Listen t-t-t-to the news ! 

Mor. What in thunder is the row ? Oh, I say, Mr. Col¬ 
fax. Won’t you sit down ? I expect Stong right in. 

Col. I didn’t come to see Stong this time. I came to see 
you. We just went out to look for you, but Campbell saw you 
coming in so we came back. A few weeks ago the Colton 
Monthly offered a prize of one hundred dollars for the best 
poem submitted within a given time. I have the pleasure to 
inform you that this little poem entitled “Honor,” which you 
sent in, has won the prize. 

Mor. What? 



THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


35 


Don. Congratulations, Theodore ! 

Toodles. You’re in the s-pot light this t-t-time, T-t-t-Ted ! 

Edwards. Tell us there isn’t any talent in our crowd, if 
you dare ! 

Camp. Are we in it ? I guess we are ! 

Mor. Say, I can hardly realize it. Gee, won’t my father 
be tickled ! He never would have believed that I was equal to 
any such stunt as that. 

Col. Well, he’ll have to this time. You certainly did a 
clever stunt. We had some mighty good things passed in, but 
nothing quite came up to yours. Your friend Stong was next 
on the list. 

Mor. Stong? Next on the list? You mean if it hadn’t 
have been for this that he would get the prize ? 

Col. Yes. 

Mor. (tearing up paper). Mr. Colfax, I didn’t send any 
poem to the Monthly. 

Col. What are you doing? 

Camp. Ted, are you crazy? 

Toodles. That’s g-g-g-going t-t-t-too far ! 

Don. There’s such a thing as overdoing it. 

Edwards. You aren’t the hero in a novel. 

Col. That’s very generous, Morris, but it won’t go this 
time. You won the prize fairly and you must accept it. I 
must ask you for another copy. 

Mor. I haven’t one. 

Col. Then you must write one. 

Mor. I can’t do that, for I don’t remember the rubbish. 

Col. See here, Morris, it isn’t particularly polite of you to 
refer to the work to which we have awarded the prize as rub¬ 
bish, even if you did write it yourself. 

Mor. I beg your pardon, Mr. Colfax. I suppose I appear 
ungrateful. I’m not. I appreciate the honor of the thing, but 
the prize must go to the man who deserves it. I am not that 
one. 

Edwards. Oh, kid, cut it short. 

Camp. Of course you are fond of Stong, and we all are. 
We didn’t know him until a week ago, but even in that short 
time we have come to realize what a mighty fine chap he is. I 
know you’d like to see him win, but you owe something to 
yourself. 

Don. To your father ! To your class ! 

Toodles. T-t-t-to us! 


3 6 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


Col. What they say is true, Morris. You have won the 
prize fairly, and you must take it. Stong would say the same. 

Mor. I haven’t won it fairly. Fellows, when we saw that 
notice in the Monthly you know the spirit in which we 
answered it. Not one of us stopped to consider the poor chaps 
in this place who need the money and would try for it. All 
we thought of was glory for ourselves, for our class. How 
much time did we spend on our poems? Just about twenty 
minutes went into mine, and absolutely no thought. That I 
won the prize is purely an accident. Stong probably spent 
hours on his, and put his whole heart and soul into it, the way 
he does into everything he attempts. When you first came up 
here with the news, 1 thought as usual of myself, and what it 
was going to mean for Theodore Morris. I have been thinking 
of something else in the last five minutes. Probably you no¬ 
ticed the title of my effusion, Honor. Who am I to write of 
honor ? Every one present knows what happened at Bernstien’s 
a week ago Saturday night, and some of the results of our 
evening’s work. One of them you do not know. Bernstien 
gave me until four o’clock last Monday to settle with him. I 
didn’t have the money, and I was afraid to have him write to 
father. Afraid to have him come to Colton. You had been 
up here that afternoon, Mr. Colfax—and left five hundred dol¬ 
lars here to be used for Stevens of our class. Listen, all of you, 
please, the man who two days before had written a poem on 
Honor came to this room, and, during Stong’s absence, stole 
four hundred and fifty dollars. You understand, stole it. 
True I came back and told Stong, and then 1 lied to you as to 
why I came over here. The man whom I have wronged took 
me in, and has been a brother to me so that I could pay the 
bill and redeem myself—and no one ever knew. Mr. Colfax, 
don’t you agree with me that the prize goes to Ezra Stong? 

Col. Yes, Morris, 1 do. To the committee I will say that 
your poem was sent in by mistake. 

Mor. You fellows can—can break with me now if you like. 
1 won’t blame you. If—if it was one of you, I—I would never 
speak to you again. 

Camp. Yes, you would, Ted. You’d be the first one to 
stand by a chum that was down. 

Don. I guess we haven’t any of us any stones to throw. 

Toodles. N-n-n-no ! I g-g-g-guess not. 

Edwards. I guess not. We’re every one of us to blame 
for what happened at Sembroke—and it just happened, Morris, 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


37 


that you got further in than we did. I think we are all agreed 
that evening wasn’t anything to be proud of. In fact, I can’t 
see anything that any of us have done to be proud of since we 
came here. I’ve been doing some thinking, Ted, since you 
moved over here, and I’ve met Stong and Hawkins and some 
of the other fellows that room in this house. It has brought 
together the fellows of the opposite stations in life, and which 
ones are a credit to Colton ? Go further than that, and say, 
their families, their mothers, for I think every one of us here 
has a mother living. Fellows, I don’t want to preach. It isn’t 
in my line, but I wish we all might agree together to live a dif¬ 
ferent sort of a life. Morris has proved this past week what he 
intends to do; but the rest of us. Of course I don’t mean that 
we are any of us likely to become saints all of a sudden, but 
if we might live lives that are going to count for something. 
Like Stong’s, you know. 

Mor. I’m with you, Johnny. 

Toodles. R-r-r-right! 

Camp. Go ahead ! 

Don. Give us an oath of allegiance, John, and we’ll take it. 

Edwards. Well, then, let’s take hotior. Let us promise to 
live our lives with honor to God—our mothers and Colton ! 

All. We promise! 

Col. Here comes Stong and some more of the fellows. 

Mor. You’ll tell him now? 

Col. Yes. 

Enter Hawk., Skin, and Stong. 

Stong. Well, what are we having, a party, kid ? 

Mor. Yes, a surprise party for you, Stong. 

Col. Stong, let me offer my congratulations. The poem 
which you sent to the Monthly has won the prize. 

Stong. What ? 

Camp. Great work, Stong. 

Edwards. Good for you, old man. 

Don. Congratulations. 

Toodles. G-g-g-g- 

Stong. Ted, do you remember that letter? I asked you to 
wish me luck. That was the poem. 

Mor. You’re pleased, Stong ? 

Stong. I can’t tell you how much. Hawkins, this is our 
day. Fellows, what do you know? Dan has discovered that 
Mr. Skinner is his uncle. 



3^ 


THE TURN IN THE ROAD 


All. What ? 

Hawk. Yes, and I never should have discovered it if it 
hadn’t have been for that cow. 

Edwards. I propose that we celebrate. 

Camp. That’s right! You two with your prize and your 
uncle, you can just go ahead and give us a party. 

Stong. All right, we’re agreeable. Go ahead ! Lead off, 
Ted. 


{Song : “ College Rag."') 


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ors; costumes, modern. Plays a full evening. 

* r 

THF TIMF^ Comedy in Four Acts. Six males, seven females. 
lflCi 1 lluEiij Scene, a single interior; costumes,modern. Plays 


a full evening. 


THF WFAYFR QFY Comedy ill Three Acts. Eight males. 
1 lllL Yf £a 0 .lY.ILI\ o£A eight females. Costumes, modern; 
scenery, two interiors. Plays a full evening. 

A WIFE WITHOUT A SMILE 

Costumes, modern ; scene, a single interior. Plays a full evening. 


Sent prepaid on receipt of price by 

Walter %). Pafeer & Company 

No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts 


l 













LIBRARY of congress 


Itcccnt }iopt 



THE AWAKENING 


THE FRUITS OF ENLIGHTENMENT 


HIS EXCELLENCY THE GOVERNOR 


Play in Four Acts. By C. H. Chambers. 
Four T .a '.r-s, sis females". .Scenery, not thdi- 
cult. cL-dy interiors: costumes, modern. Plays a full evening. 
Price, 50 Cents. 

Comely in Four Acts. 
By L. Tolstoi. Twenty- 
one males, eleven females. Scenery, characteristic interiors: cos¬ 
tumes, rn.-dem. Plays a full evening. Recommended for reading 
clubs. Price, 25 Cents. 

F arce in Three Acts. By 
R. Maeshall Ten 
males, three females. Costumes, modem : scenery, one interior. 
Acting rights reserved. Time, a full evening. Price, 50 Cents. 

iW inrn UTCD \ YH Comedy in Four Acts. By Oscar Wilde. 
Ad 1ULAL 111 jD.ll'U IS ine males, six females. Costumes, mod¬ 
ern; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. Acting rights 
reserved. >;-ld for reading. Price, 50 Cents. 

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST I»£ e £ 3£* 

Wilde. Five males, four females. Costumes, modern : scenes, two 
interiors and an exterior. Plays a full evening. Acting rights re¬ 
served. Price, 50 Cents. 

I tRY WIS’nFPMFDF*^ F 4 V Comedy in Fbur Acts By Oscar 
LAlll O IIULIY.'ILIIL 3 lAit Wilde. Seven males, nine fe¬ 
males. Costumes, modem: scenery, three interiors. Plays a full 
evening. Acting rights reserved. Price. 50 Cents. 

V » TH A' R ll f Play in Four Acts. By Clyde Fitch. Fifteen 
il A111 Ait 11.-1LL males, four females. C" stnuies of the eighteenth 
centurv in America. S enery. four interiors and t wo exteriors. Act¬ 
ing rights referred. Plays a full evening. Price. 50 Cents. 

Comedy in Three Acts. By B. Horite. 
Six males, four females. Scenery, two 
interiors; c srtunes, modem. Professional stage rights reserved. 
Plays a full evening. Price. 50 Cents. 

THE TYBlWY HF Comedy in Four Acts Bv C. H. 

lilt 1 1 IV Add i Ur 1 LAINJ Chambers. Four males, three fe¬ 
males. Scenery, an interior and an exterior: e -stumes, modem. 
Acting rights reserved. Plays a full evening. Price. 50 Cents. 

Comedy in Four Acts. By 
0> arWilde. Eight males, 
seven females. Costumes, modem; scenery, three interiors and an 
ext-rk r. Plays a full evening. Stage rights reserved. Offered f<_«r 
reading oniv. Price. 50 Cents. 


THE OTHER FELLOW 


A WOMAN OF NO IMPORTANCE 


Sent prepaid on receipt of price by 

Walter 1 % lsa'ter & Company 

No. 5 Hamilton Place. Boston, Massachusetts 


S 4. PARKHIU. S. cc . PRINTE' S. BOSTON 



















